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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859448">Take My Breath Away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope'>IncandescentAntelope</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Historical AUs [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Katsuki Yuuri, Class Differences, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Portraits, Victor Nikiforov is Extra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:09:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The son of Earl Dmitry Nikiforov, Viktor lives a rather dull life; he has no want to take his father’s title, but he must. Viktor’s family insists on an updated portrait, and though Viktor despises the idea, he certainly is interested in the artist.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, background phichit chulanont/christophe giacometti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Historical AUs [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you so much to my beta readers! &lt;3 this fic ended up so much longer than i expected and i really love how it came out!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Viktor's mother convinces him to sit for a new portrait, an argument leads to a request.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Truthfully, Viktor should have expected the conversation to happen at some point. He just hadn’t expected it to happen over afternoon tea on a balmy May day. He had, in fact, been in the middle of sipping from his preferred honey and jasmine brew when his mother surprised him with it.</p>
<p>“So, Vityasha, now that you’ve cut your hair,” she began, and Viktor foolishly started to drink from his cup, “I think we should arrange for a new portrait.”</p>
<p>Viktor had to force himself to swallow the too-large mouthful he had just pulled into his mouth on accident, the sudden shock of it nearly sending him backward out of his chair on the veranda. After he was mildly successful at the minor task of drinking his tea, he set his cup down on the saucer with a bit too much effort. His tea spoon clattered loudly and his mother jumped at the sound.</p>
<p>“Mother, why? The current portrait is fine enough,” Viktor began, remembering with painful clarity how uncomfortable, how awful, how utterly stifling it had been to sit for the last one. Sitting for three entire days in his father’s study, a tart-faced man glaring at him every time he so much as set a hair out of place. “Must I truly?”</p>
<p>Ana was a kind woman, and tempered the cold, distant nature of his father. She always had, which was why he tended to avoid spending time with the man when he could, save for the necessary meetings he sat in on and the obligatory visits with local dignitaries and important figures in the area. He was doomed to hold his father’s title, and Viktor recoiled at the very thought of it.</p>
<p>“Yes, the last one we commissioned was before your seventeenth birthday, you’ve grown up so much since then, <em>dorogoy</em>.” Her tone was sweet and soothing, but it didn’t do much to soften the blow of it. “You’re a man now, Vityasha, and you’ll be Earl someday. You’ve changed so much, and your father and I agree that it’s well past time to have you sit again.”</p>
<p>Viktor groaned, knowing how disrespectful the gesture was. He wouldn’t dare do such a thing in the presence of his father. His mother rested a gloved hand on Viktor’s forearm, patting it reassuringly, a soothing smile on her features. He felt the pinching between his brows lessen slightly at the comfort.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright.” Viktor finally conceded, though he was already ceaselessly frustrated by the idea. “I’ll behave. But I have stipulations.” Viktor said firmly, trying not to break into a laugh when his mother did, holding her laced, gloved hand to her mouth.</p>
<p>“Go on, make your negotiations, <em>dorogoy</em>.” She laughed, waving him on. “Your father will simply be happy to have something that resembles you accurately instead of the cherub-cheeked child displayed in the gallery now.”</p>
<p>Viktor stuck out a pouting lower lip in defiance before laughing and tucking it away. “I’ll only be sitting if I can be painted with Makkachin.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Vitya…” Ana began with a sigh, giving her son a knowing look. “You know I can’t allow you to be painted with her. She’s your precious darling, I know, but your father will <em>not</em> stand for it.”</p>
<p>Viktor sighed, knowing it would have been defeated easily. His second stipulation was much easier accomplished and he knew it. “Fine, fine. Second requirement. Without such I will refuse any portrait you and father try to arrange for me.”</p>
<p>His mother laughed again, bright like champagne. “Oh go on, you spoiled boy.” She teased, picking up her folded fan and snapping him gently on the wrist with it.</p>
<p>“I will be painted at the summer house, in the gardens.” Viktor insisted, turning up his nose and playing the spoiled nobleman’s son with ease. “If I’m to sit in one place for two days I hope to be able to see the sky.” Viktor smiled, turning his gaze upward at the brilliant blue sky above them, thankful for the shade afforded them here under the roofed porch overlooking the gardens, the stables and grazing field to the west.</p>
<p>Ana chuckled and nodded. “We can arrange for that, Vityasha.” She sipped her tea and Viktor did the same, content with his negotiations. “Don’t forget you have a meeting with your father this evening after dinner.”</p>
<p>In a moment, Viktor’s good mood was spoiled. “And you’re certain I must attend that as well?”</p>
<p>Ana laughed and nodded, some modicum of apology in her eyes. “I’m absolutely certain. You know how important it is for your father to teach you how to perform your future duties.”</p>
<p>Viktor sighed and finished his tea, setting his cup back down on the table. “I know.” He said simply, standing from his place and thanking his mother for the tea. “Have Gosha call for me when it’s time?” He asked, whistling to call Makkachin to his side from wherever she had wandered off to on the grounds. Maybe she’d found a butterfly to chase or sidled up next to one of the gardeners again.</p>
<p>Makkachin bounded out of the garden, a handful of twigs stuck in her fur, making both himself and his mother laugh. Viktor plucked one of the branches from her curly brown fur, a small sprig of spray roses in among the mess. He handed the peach-colored blooms to his mother with a bit of dramatic flair and headed for the library, eager to find a new book to enjoy in the few hours before he was to meet with his father.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Viktor had quite enjoyed his time at the summer house before, its proximity to the shore was certainly appreciated, as well as the meandering walking paths he and Makkachin had blazed over their shared years of exploration, from his younger days through now. There wasn’t much wandering done these days, however, as Viktor spent more of his time indoors, reading on current events and attempting not to lose his sanity in the hot, cramped compartment of a study he and his father had to share during their summer vacation.</p>
<p>He was able to visit with Christophe in the summers, their vacation villa closer to his friend from university than their permanent residence. The days passed with ease and, as they had in past years, younger years, with debaucherous visits to the city, long nights on the bottle and shared cigarettes in small morning hours.</p>
<p>Both of them had changed, and Viktor could feel it in his soul that none of their usual mischief would be happening this year. He attended a gala announcing Chris’s recent engagement, a sudden and unexpected event, given that Viktor had only just heard of his friend’s courtship with one Phichit Chulanont in April.</p>
<p>He held up his champagne glass in a toast when he was finally able to manage a word with his best friend, congratulating him on his accomplishments in finding someone willing to cooperate with him in such a long-term agreement.</p>
<p>His fiancé laughed at the notion. “Oh, Mr. Nikiforov, you’re mistaken, I’m the one being cooperated with. Christophe is nothing but a gentleman.” Chris stifled a laugh and Viktor did the same. “Unless there’s something you haven’t shared with me?”</p>
<p>Chris shook his head. “Oh no, dear, you know it all. It’s simply that I’m sure Vitya doesn’t believe a man exists who is more impossible to wrangle as me.”</p>
<p>Viktor laughed as they conversed for a while longer, until they were inevitably separated by more well-wishers. On a normal evening, Viktor might have stayed to dance a few sets and try to find himself someone as Chris had. Instead, Viktor excused himself early, retiring to the guest suite.</p>
<p>He spent the last few days leading up to the planned portrait sitting “moping around the place” as his father so frustratedly put it, reading and writing to Chris, having tea with his mother and ignoring his father as much as he could.</p>
<p>“You should begin looking for a partner, Vitya.” His father had said over dinner the night before the artist was meant to arrive. “It’s not fitting of a man of your status to be a bachelor.”</p>
<p>Viktor grit his teeth and nodded politely. “I know, father.”</p>
<p>“Your mother and I met when we were in our school years, I don’t understand why you’re dragging your feet in the matter.”</p>
<p>“Yes, father.” Viktor replied again, prodding at his meal with little enthusiasm, his appetite withering into nothing as he continued.</p>
<p>“Dmitry,” his mother attempted to intercept, Viktor taking advantage of the moment to finish his wine and push away from the table.</p>
<p>“Viktor, we aren’t finished.”</p>
<p>“I am. I need to rest before my appointment tomorrow morning.” Viktor insisted, leaving the dining room without looking back over his shoulder as his father spluttered at the insult. Viktor knew his mother wouldn’t be far behind to request he return, but the mere thought of enduring more of his father’s berating had him exhausted.</p>
<p>He looked up to realize he had found himself out in the gardens, surrounded by the rose bushes he had helped his mother plant and cultivate when he was young, the plants now growing tall and strong, the unique shade of blue so rare they almost seemed artificial. A small smile crept across his features as he sat himself on the small stone bench in his corner of the garden that he frequented in the evenings and on less offensively humid days.</p>
<p>His father was right, of course, he needed to find someone to stand at his side, to be a confidante, as more and more he was realizing his friends could no longer bear his burdens with him no more than he could bear them on his own. Perhaps he should seek an arranged courtship, he thought for a moment, as unwelcome as the thought of it was. Courting and wedding a stranger… how could he?</p>
<p>“Vityasha?” his mother’s voice called out through the garden. Viktor answered, and her worried expression met him as she rounded the corner. “I thought you might have run off.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a child anymore, mother,” Viktor answered with a tightness in his chest. “I wouldn’t do that to you again.” He moved to the side to make room for Ana beside him on the bench.</p>
<p>“I’ll never forget that night, you know.” She said with a smile. “Packing a rucksack like you truly intended to leave in the dead of night.”</p>
<p>Viktor laughed at the memory he’d been told a hundred times, and in the case of his father, wielded like a weapon. “I’m glad you were there to intercept me at the door.” He admitted, his mother’s smile warming the chill that had begun to sink into his bones.</p>
<p>“Your father is a harsh man, Vitya. He simply wants what he thinks is best for you.” She explained, and Viktor nodded, feeling the ugly pull of tears at the back of his throat. “I know you’re lonely, <em>dorogoy</em>. We had hoped you would find someone by now, but… it can be difficult, I know.”</p>
<p>“I…” Viktor wrapped his arms around himself and pulled himself tightly together as his mother wrapped a reassuring arm around him, stroking up and down his spine. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t disappointed me, Vityasha.” She replied softly, reaching for the handkerchief in the pocket of Viktor’s overcoat, dabbing at his eyes as tears began to spill. “I think you’re more disappointed in yourself than I am in you. You get that from your father. Both of you, overachievers. Your own worst critics.”</p>
<p>Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to get anything from him.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know. I wish he wasn’t this harsh with you as well.” Ana soothed. “You know, your father and I were an arranged match.”</p>
<p>Viktor looked up from his feet, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “You were? I thought… Father said you met in school. Just earlier.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “We did. Your father’s father and my father, your <em>dedushka</em>, planned it all out from the time we were children. I learned to love him, to stay at his side, and temper his foul moods the best I can.” His mother heaved a sigh like it weighed a ton. “He’s growing worse with age, I’m afraid, but I’m doing my best.”</p>
<p>Viktor reached out and took his mother’s hand in his own, his heart rabbiting painfully in his chest. “Will you arrange something for me? I’m so tired of being alone.” Viktor felt himself crumbling at the admission, feeling so small and broken in the light of the truth.</p>
<p>“Oh, Vitya.” Ana cooed, holding his hand tight. “I’ll see what I can do. You deserve to be loved and cherished by a partner, <em>dorogoy</em>. I’ve seen how lonely you’ve become.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, mama.” Viktor pulled in a cleansing breath, though he still felt held down, constrained, like he had just given something precious away. “Will you find a man for me?”</p>
<p>Ana nodded without a second thought. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to marry someone you can’t love.”</p>
<p>That, if anything, was a relief.</p>
<p>“Now, we need to go back inside for coffee, but I need you to help your mother off this bench.” Ana said and Viktor laughed, a tight, strained thing in his throat. He stood with a groan, feeling the pain of his short time on the bench in his sit bones. “I expect not to hear you whining about sitting here until your behind aches come time for your portrait.”</p>
<p>Viktor gaped at her as he helped her stand, suddenly realizing what he had fought for. His pride kept him from reacting with words, but his mother knew better, spotting the slight downturn of his lips.</p>
<p>“It was your choice to sit in the gardens, Vityasha, you could have chosen that chaise lounge in the library.” His mother chirped sweetly, patting his cheek. “I love you, darling.”</p>
<p>Viktor couldn’t help but smile, though dread settled into his core. “I love you too, mama.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A small voice in Viktor's head warns: <em>"oh no, he's hot"</em></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Viktor sighed as he pulled himself out of bed that morning, already dreading the events of the day. He’d be sitting for his portrait, in the already blistering heat, and the sun had barely risen. His mother had insisted he wear the blue suit he’d worn to Christophe’s last ball, with the silver trimming. His clothing was already laid out over the armoire when he rose. His only assurance for the day was being surrounded by his roses, and where he wouldn’t be pestered about finances or politics.</p><p>He dressed quickly and couldn’t help but admire himself in the mirror, looking like the spitting image of his father. They had the same eyes, the same nose, though he had inherited his mother's silver hair. She insisted that he looked more like her father than Viktor resembled his own father, but his <em>dedushka</em> had a joy in his heart and smile that Viktor hadn’t felt in himself in years.</p><p>No, he was his father’s son. He carried the weight of the Nikiforov Earldom on his shoulders, and he set his posture as he pinned his cravat. The royal blue sparkle of the sapphire would match the roses perfectly, and against the silver of his perfectly tied cravat, he would at least <em>look</em> the part of a future Earl, regardless of his resistance to taking his father’s title. Makkachin trotted in from her morning rounds and plopped down on the rug at his feet, cocking her head to the side as she examined them in the mirror.</p><p>“What do you think, Makka?” Viktor asked, giving himself a once over. “Do I look important?”</p><p>Makkachin huffed and stood again, nosing at her reflection in the mirror. Viktor laughed and smoothed his hair back with styling oil, trying not to think about the slow inch of his hairline backward. He could already feel the heat of the day beading sweat under his shirt and waistcoat, and cursed himself for suggesting this at all. He would be glad to sit in the snow at this point.</p><p>“Well, I suppose we’d better go down to meet him. Are you coming?” Viktor cooed at the poodle, who was still quite enamored with her own reflection, was pawing playfully at the identical dog she saw in the mirror. Viktor smiled, feeling a faint glimmer of joy before it was doused in cold water.</p><p>He was met on his way down to the gardens by his mother, who smiled at the sight of him all done up in his finery.</p><p>“You look marvelous, Vityasha.” She praised him, and Viktor couldn’t help but smile. The praise soothed the bitter half of his psyche, only for a few moments. “The portraitist arrived late last night, he’s been preparing in the rose garden for quite some time now.”</p><p>Viktor nodded, having remembered hearing a faint clicking of hurried footsteps in the hall as he was finishing his novel in the small hours. “I hope I don’t melt out there.” Viktor muttered under his breath, eyeing the already bright and cloudless sky.</p><p>“I certainly hope so too,” Viktor’s mother patted his cheek gently. “I’ll be out with some refreshments before lunch, <em>da</em>?”</p><p>Viktor forced a smile and nodded, striding the rest of the way through the manor and out onto the veranda. The air was already warm and muggy, and Viktor could already feel the discomfort of his clothing sticking to his skin in odd places. He blew out a cleansing breath and stepped into the sunshine, weaving through the garden paths quickly to find where the artist had set up an easel and a plain dropcloth, in front of the small stone bench. He was grateful, at the very least, for the sparse amount of shade afforded by a tree above them.</p><p>Viktor couldn’t help but approach the easel, the large canvas already in the process of being painted. It was left unattended by the portraitist, who was nowhere to be seen at the present moment, so Viktor approached. He admired the splashes of amorphous greenery that wrapped around the outside edges of the canvas, random splotches of white left where Viktor recognized there would soon be roses.</p><p>A soft rustling of branches nearly made Viktor start, immediately stepping away from the easel. He turned to find who he assumed was the painter, holding a large wooden palette in one hand and a blooming rose in the other, carefully examining it.</p><p>“Hello?” Viktor greeted carefully, not wanting to cause the man to drop anything. He could see that there was already a wide array of colors mixed on the man’s palette, a beautiful selection of blues and greens, as well as a soft peach tone, and a bright silvery-gray.</p><p>“Oh, I… probably should have asked first, do you mind if I pick one of your roses?” the artist asked, turning slowly without looking up, offering Viktor a moment to panic at the mere sight of him without embarrassing himself by his reaction being seen.</p><p>This artist, god save his soul, was the most attractive man Viktor had ever seen. His features were soft, rounded cheeks, a button nose, a soft blush- or perhaps a light sunburn- on his cheekbones. He wore round spectacles, balanced carefully on the end of his nose. He clearly had better sense in clothing than Viktor did, wearing just his shirtsleeves, an apron full of brushes and pencils and a sensible pair of trousers with boots. As scandalous as it would have been for someone of Viktor’s status to only be wearing a thin, cotton shirt, Viktor could hardly blame him, the heat so oppressive he felt like he was swimming on dry land.</p><p>On his cheek was a small smudge of blue paint, and Viktor yearned to reach forward and brush it away, if only to touch his cheek, but propriety kept him from doing so, as the man lifted the most beautiful mahogany eyes toward him, a splash of pink flooding his cheeks.</p><p>"I don't mind at all, I know it's important to perfect the details," Viktor replied breathlessly. "I would offer a hand to shake, but it seems both of yours are occupied." Viktor scorned himself in the quiet of his mind for saying such a silly thing, for making the artist blush even darker. "I'm sorry, apologies. I haven't even introduced myself."</p><p>The artist flushed again. “I don’t think you need to…”</p><p>“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” he realized too late that he had spoken over the man, a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. He was making a fool of himself and the thought made him fumble for his words. “Sorry, I… I’m being incredibly rude,”</p><p>“Oh, no, it’s alright,” the artist and Viktor spoke at the same time again, this time the man laughed. “We’re not very good at this. How horribly improper.”</p><p>Viktor laughed too, his embarrassment dissipating like dew on a sunny morning. “I’ve committed a grievous ill, please forgive me.” He bowed respectfully, his gloved hand over his heart.</p><p>“You’re forgiven, Lord Nikiforov.” the artist laughed, bowing in return. “I only ask that you bear with me in this awful summer heat.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name,” Viktor said, straightening his posture and regarding the man with a smile, feeling lighter than he had in years.</p><p>“Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.” the artist replied, and Viktor couldn’t help but repeat the name, the long <em>uu</em> spilling over his tongue like brandy from a drunk’s glass.</p><p>“Yuuri. Such a beautiful name.” Viktor breathed, smiling at the way Yuuri’s own cheeks spread with a smile. “I hope you won’t be laboring too long, standing in this heat surely will become tiresome…” Viktor remarked, worry laced in his voice.</p><p>“Oh, don’t mind me.” Yuuri assured him, nodding at the stone bench with his palette, Viktor happily complying with the wordless direction. “I don’t mind standing. My boots are comfortable enough. And permitting that I have good company, it won’t be too much a burden.”</p><p>Viktor couldn’t fight the smile that continued to creep into his cheeks. Yuuri set his palette and the rose down on the bench beside Viktor as he set about posing him, setting his folded arm on the armrest of the bench, his opposite hand resting gently on his forearm. The posture emphasized his broad chest and the lean muscle of his arms, but Viktor could hardly focus on anything other than the gentle touch of Yuuri’s hands on his shoulders, sliding tender fingers along the slope of his jaw, his chin, angling him just so.</p><p>Every touch felt like fire, and Viktor fought valiantly to maintain steady breaths as Yuuri moved him. Yuuri made these adorable, soft sounds in his ear as he worked, little humming sounds that had him nearly losing his control. Once Yuuri was happy with his pose, he picked up the palette and the rose, pausing for a moment, examining the bloom.</p><p>“What is it?” Viktor asked softly, not daring to move from his position.</p><p>Yuuri answered by laying the rose on the bench beside him. “Just… thinking it would be prettier there.” He replied softly, that soft flush darkening in a way that made Viktor smile down to his deepest self, his heart itself smiling. He watched Yuuri hurry back to his canvas, tapping the end of a long-stemmed paintbrush to his lips thoughtfully before withdrawing a pencil from his apron. “You have marvelous cheekbones, Lord Nikiforov,” Yuuri remarked, and Viktor could feel himself growing red at the praise.</p><p>“Thank you, Yuuri. You don’t have to call me that, though.” Viktor said with a smile, “You can call me Viktor.”</p><p>It was Yuuri’s turn to flush and he nodded in understanding, carefully examining Viktor’s features in a way that made him feel more seen than he had been in years. “Alright, Viktor.” Yuuri said, dancing his pencil over the canvas gently. “You have marvelous cheekbones, <em>Viktor</em>.” he repeated, and the sound Viktor made was possibly the most undignified thing to ever cross his lips.</p><p>He smiled and attempted to hold a decent conversation, though all of it seemed to return to Yuuri and his art.</p><p>"What are you painting now?" Viktor would ask, and Yuuri would laugh.</p><p>"The same thing I was painting a minute ago, Viktor." he would reply, before going back to focusing on his canvas. Viktor almost forgot about the heat when he saw the way the tip of Yuuri’s tongue would sneak its way out from between his lips, his eyes wide as he added a bit of color, dipping his brush, mixing a new shade of peach, another permutation of silvery-white.</p><p>“What are you painting now, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, after he was sure he had been sitting there for half a century.</p><p>Yuuri didn’t answer immediately, his focus so singular on what was in front of his face that he hadn’t seemed to hear Viktor. He didn’t even seem to be blinking, his focus simply that honed on his craft.</p><p>“Yuuri?” Viktor repeated, softer, as if his body itself was protesting his calling out Yuuri’s name, was resisting breaking Yuuri’s concentration.</p><p>Yuuri’s eyes flicked to Viktor’s for a moment, and in that brief moment, just a single breath, Viktor swore he saw the heat of twin suns in Yuuri’s eyes. His gaze was so intense, so warm and heady it pinned him in place without touch. He was rooted to his spot and did not want to move, should it disrupt the crackle of heat between them.</p><p>Yuuri pulled a small, fine brush from his apron and dipped it into that brilliant blue he had yet to touch.</p><p>“Your eyes, Viktor.” Yuuri murmured, and Viktor could barely hear anything else, just the gentle swish of Yuuri’s brush over his canvas, his slow, even breaths, and Viktor’s own heartbeat rattling against the inside of his chest. “You have such beautiful eyes, so… expressive.”</p><p>Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but nothing fell from his lips. He meant to tell Yuuri that he was leagues from the truth, that he had learned to push things down when he was young, to avoid his father’s ire. But instead, Viktor’s tongue knotted itself tight, and he listened as Yuuri continued.</p><p>“So much about someone is held in their eyes, and you, Viktor… you hold so much inside,” Yuuri said softly, but with no less intensity. “Far more than most, anyway. Anyone truly looking into your eyes knows you’re protecting a lot of secrets... not sharing how you really feel.”</p><p>“Yuuri…” Viktor breathed, the artist’s words lancing through him unexpectedly.</p><p>“You’ve gotten good at hiding.” Yuuri added, and the thought hit Viktor like a clap of thunder, rattling him to his very core. “O-oh! And who is this?” Yuuri asked, laughing brightly, as if he hadn’t just weakened all of Viktor’s defenses.</p><p>Viktor shook himself into focus, finding Yuuri on his knees, ruffling Makkachin’s fur with a smile on his cheeks. After a moment, Viktor found his tongue again and introduced Yuuri to his pet poodle.</p><p>“What a well-behaved little lady she is,” Yuuri remarked, in awe as Viktor showed him a handful of Makka’s little tricks. “Surely she didn’t learn her manners from you…” Yuuri teased, leaving Viktor aghast yet again. How could a man go from so expertly dismantling him to teasing him like a childhood friend?</p><p>“I’ll have you know I taught her everything she knows.” Viktor replied with his nose upturned dramatically. “She and I are both well-behaved and of good breeding.”</p><p>Yuuri laughed behind his hand and nodded. “Oh, I’m certain you are.”</p><p>Makkachin had been a warning, Viktor realized, when his mother turned the corner in the garden, accompanied by one of the kitchen staff, carrying a tray with the promised refreshments. Their appearance utterly halted Yuuri’s and Viktor’s conversation.</p><p>Ana praised the progress of the painting, her eyes darting between it and Viktor. “You’ve turned my son into quite the gentleman already, Mr. Katsuki, thank you.”</p><p>The tone of his mother’s voice was soft and encouraging in a way that Viktor recognized, and he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation the two of them had shared the night before, his request for a match to be made. A strong ache settled in his core at the realization now, that he and Yuuri were even more a fantasy than he had first imagined.</p><p>“Oh, Lady Nikiforova, he’s been lovely so far, by far my most pleasant subject.” Yuuri answered her, and Viktor couldn’t help but flush at the praise, despite it all.</p><p>“Our last portraitist wanted to throw his brush at him when he was a teenager,” Ana remembered fondly, offering Yuuri a glass of lemonade and beckoning Viktor to stand, to enjoy a glass as well. “I have to commend you for your work.”</p><p>Viktor took the glass wordlessly, finally allowing himself the first glance of Yuuri’s painting; he could see what it was that Yuuri was talking about. The painting was far from complete, but the structure of his shoulders and torso was half-painted, his left eye gazing back at him, so somber and blue it shocked him.</p><p>“He’s doing an excellent job, isn’t he, Vitya?” Ana asked, Viktor nearly missing the question.</p><p>“Yes, I… it’s beautiful.” Viktor answered, barely able to form the correct words. He heard Yuuri laughing, distantly, commenting on the painting barely being a quarter completed, but Viktor could already make his judgment.</p><p>Yuuri and Ana talked for a few more minutes, polite, easy conversation about the weather and Yuuri’s hope that they have another bright, sunny day like this tomorrow, and Viktor excused himself for a moment, claiming the call of nature. Makkachin trotted along with him as he made his way back into the house, managing to escape the heat for a few moments.</p><p>Yuuri was such an impossible presence, he didn’t feel corporeal. The entire morning had felt surreal and illusory, like VIktor might wake in the aftermath of too large a dose of cough syrup.</p><p>After relieving himself, Viktor quickly returned to the gardens, finding Yuuri closely examining another rose and painting it in miniature on the canvas. Viktor approached slowly, quietly, simply content to watch.</p><p>Yuuri looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Now I’m painting one of the roses,” Yuuri answered the playful question that Viktor hadn’t yet asked. Viktor smiled softly and watched for a few minutes as Yuuri added more splashes of royal blue to the bushes behind the bench, marking the handful of visible blooms as well as the few sprays of smaller buds yet to blossom.</p><p>“Have you always wanted to be a painter, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, watching as Yuuri changed his brush again, picking up an impossibly fine brush and dipping into the bright white on his palette.</p><p>Yuuri hummed softly as he rolled the brush in white, carefully lifting his hand to the canvas and adding a tiny splash of a highlight to the blue of Viktor’s iris. “When I was a child I wanted to dance, but I ended up enjoying painting too much to spend any time in the studio…” Yuuri’s words came out quietly, his focus burning and intense as he worked.</p><p>“You would be a beautiful dancer, Yuuri.” Viktor said, his tongue moving too fast for his mind to catch up with him.</p><p>Yuuri laughed softly. “I certainly wouldn’t have to struggle with my weight if that were so,” he said, his concentration on the painting seeming to remove any reservations in speaking on rather… personal subjects. Viktor couldn’t imagine Yuuri as someone to struggle with his weight, such a lean figure, strong thighs… a perfect rear. “I have to mind myself at the dessert table. And stand while I paint.” he added, looking over his shoulder. “Could you… ah, re-take your seat? I’d like to work on the rest of your face.”</p><p>“Of course,” Viktor breathed, hurrying back to the bench. Noon would be coming soon, giving them another reprieve from the sun, but god, Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off Yuuri as he worked, his hips swaying gently side to side, quickly finding himself lost in the painting as Viktor held as perfectly still as he could.</p><p>“What are you--”</p><p>“I’m painting your lips, please do not speak.” Yuuri interrupted, and Viktor snapped his mouth shut tight again. He could feel the weight of Yuuri’s gaze on him, his lips tingling like he was painting directly on them instead of on the canvas. He couldn’t stop imagining what Yuuri’s lips might feel like against his own, even just the touch of his fingertips…</p><p>“Are you thirsty, Viktor?” Yuuri asked after a while, “You’ve been licking your lips, do you need something to wet them?”</p><p>Viktor’s mind ran a thousand horribly dirty places, but he shook his head firmly. “No, I’m quite alright. I’ll quench them when we break for luncheon.”</p><p>Easier said than done, Viktor realized, as the remaining hour or so was difficult to manage; the heat was beginning to bear down on him, breaking through the leaves above him and surely catching his forehead. It would be a miracle if he didn’t have a sunburn come morning. His mother calling for them from the porch was a relief unlike any other, and Viktor seriously considered removing his tailcoat when they reached the house. Yuuri found a place to leave his canvas, safe from harsh sunlight and curious insects that “might get caught in the wet paint” as Yuuri had explained.</p><p>Their luncheon passed with ease, Viktor’s father was nowhere to be seen and thus could not ruin a pleasant afternoon.</p><p>“Why don’t you two take a break from your painting and catch your breath? The sun seems to be getting a bit more severe…” Ana recommended, an idea to which Viktor adamantly agreed, and Yuuri nodded graciously. Viktor gave Yuuri a short tour of the manor, showing him the sitting room, the gallery, including the painting his parents were aiming to replace.</p><p>“Oh, wow, Viktor…” Yuuri breathed, admiring the painting of his teenaged self, posing in the library, a desk full of books and paper behind him, Makkachin lying dutifully at his feet. “Your hair… it was so long…”</p><p>Viktor laughed, keeping himself from running his hand through aforementioned locks. “It was, I quite enjoyed keeping it long.” Viktor’s father had hated it, insisting it was too feminine, but Viktor knew better than to force himself into the constraints of gender; at least he did when he was young. His hair was swept back into a long tail, the ends draped over the shoulder of his emerald green tailcoat, that awful ruffled cravat never saw the light of day again after those torturous three days.</p><p>“The artist didn’t quite get the color right.” Yuuri remarked, his eyes flitting between Viktor and the painting. “Your hair is… it’s hard to describe, but it’s not… this.” Yuuri gestured at the strands of silver in the painting.</p><p>“I trust you will capture it better then, Yuuri.” Viktor said, allowing himself to step just barely closer than before; he held his breath when Yuuri leaned ever so slightly closer, what felt like a thousand miles.</p><p>“I appreciate your faith in me, Viktor.” Yuuri replied in a hushed voice, his tone encouraging Viktor to move again, the two of them now perhaps a body’s width apart. Far too close for two strangers to be, even two strangers who had already bonded over dogs and roses and affinity for nights at the theater.</p><p>It was Yuuri who moved again, their shoulders so close that Viktor could feel the warmth of him through his tailcoat.</p><p>It was Viktor’s mother, however, who rapped her knuckles on the doorframe, making Viktor nearly startle out of his skin. The space between himself and Yuuri widened within a moment, and they found themselves in the garden again, making use of the afternoon sunlight until it was no more, dining in the blessed absence of his father again.</p><p>Yuuri excused himself to his rooms after dinner, taking the painting with him. Viktor ached to intercept him, to ask him to spend the evening in his rooms with him, talking and sharing cognac in their coffee. But he allowed the chance to slip through his grasp, spending the remainder of his evening in the bath, letting the sweat of the day wash away.</p><p>Perhaps tomorrow, he thought as his eyes fell shut, curled around nothing but empty space in his bed, perhaps tomorrow he could feel Yuuri’s touch again.</p><hr/><p>When Viktor woke, the heat of the day was already seeping through the walls of the manor, sunlight streaming through the windows, heavy and gold. Makkachin was more than happy to doze in the thick of it, letting her fur be warmed by the sun, but Viktor was already dreading the thought of an even hotter day.</p><p>He met Yuuri in the gardens after dressing and having his breakfast, a cup of tea resting gently on a small table at his side. He was wearing a similarly light shirt, a pair of high-waisted trousers that did his rear end a hundred favors, his apron tied in a sweet bow in the small of his back. Yuuri had the good sense to wear a hat as well, a large, floppy sunhat that would be more common to see on a woman’s head than a man’s.</p><p>“Was yesterday’s sun too much for you, Yuuri?” Viktor asked as he approached, his words crumbling like ash in his mouth at the sight of a red sunburn on Yuuri’s cheeks. “Oh… oh no, Yuuri, does it hurt?” He asked, concern rising in his chest.</p><p>Yuuri smiled and shook his head. “No, not too terribly. I burn easily, it was entirely my own fault for not wearing my hat yesterday.” He waved Viktor off, easing some of the tension in his chest. “And with hair as dark as mine, it tends to get a little too hot to manage.”</p><p>Viktor smiled, remembering the way Yuuri’s dark locks had looked in the heavenly light of sunset, just before they ended their session for the day. His skin had been cast in a beautiful golden glow, as if he had been bathed in honey. “You look lovely in your hat, Yuuri. I hope the weather is easier on us both today.”</p><p>Yuuri flushed and bowed politely. “Why thank you, Viktor, I hope so too.” Yuuri’s smile was almost enough to excuse the oppressive heat, though Viktor knew it would certainly be hotter than the day before. “Take your seat, would you?”</p><p>Viktor obeyed, settling in on sore sit bones. His grimace must have been poorly disguised, as Yuuri furrowed his brow, his lower lip stuck out in a soft pout. “Oh, don’t mind me, just a little stiff.”</p><p>“Stay there, I’ll… go find something.” Yuuri set down his paints and hurried down the garden path, around the corner and out of sight. Viktor hated to watch him go, but oh, <em>god</em>, the way his back end looked as he moved was a sight.</p><p>Yuuri wasn’t gone long, only long enough for Viktor to be caught undoing the row of silver buttons keeping his tailcoat closed around his ribs. It was so blisteringly hot at barely nine in the morning, sweat was sticking his shirt to his skin in all the worst places and Viktor felt he could barely breathe.</p><p>Yuuri’s step stuttered when he rounded the corner, a cushion in his hands as Viktor fanned himself with his opened jacket, revealing his waistcoat and underlayers that would not be seen in the company of others. Viktor’s breath caught when he saw Yuuri reappear, having caught him in a rather revealing position.</p><p>“Pardon me,” Yuuri squeaked, covering his eyes as Viktor’s hands flew to the buttons of his jacket. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just so humid,” Viktor began, watching with a flushed smile as Yuuri lowered his hands, allowing himself another view of Viktor’s body. There was a curiosity, a wonder in his eyes that Viktor felt himself melting under.</p><p>“It certainly is,” Yuuri nodded, his voice low and quiet. “You… ah, if it’s too much, I could paint other parts of you, if you’d like to leave the jacket off…”</p><p>Viktor swallowed thickly, feeling sweat beading under his cravat. “I’d like that very much, Yuuri.” Viktor said, letting the jacket fall from his shoulders. In just his waistcoat and shirt, he felt the slight breeze move across his heated skin, even through his remaining clothes. It was such a relief he was surprised he hadn’t made some sort of audible noise of pleasure.</p><p>Yuuri waited for a moment as Viktor folded his jacket, laying it over the armrest of the bench. “I can paint your legs now, and perhaps after dinner I can finish your torso, with the jacket. It should cool down in the afternoon,” Yuuri offered, and Viktor was never more thrilled by talk of the weather.</p><p>Yuuri set to work as Viktor held the familiar pose, unthinkably grateful for the cushion under his hips. He was much more sore than he expected, and he cursed his age for it. He spent far too much time in uncomfortable chairs.</p><p>Viktor let his mind wander as Yuuri worked, his bare hands smeared with paint, even a small streak of dark green on his bared forearm. He had rolled up his sleeves not long after they began, and Viktor found himself staring more often than he thought he might have. Yuuri was beautiful here, sparse sunlight filtering through the weave of his straw hat, and every so often, a fleck of sunlight would catch in his eyes, looking like glittering gold among the dark mahogany of his irises. He was enchanting, and Viktor couldn’t look away.</p><p>“Yesterday… I asked if you always wanted to be a dancer.” Viktor said after a while, Yuuri humming softly in acknowledgement. “I didn’t ask you anything about your life growing up.”</p><p>Yuuri laughed. “That’s alright, Viktor, you didn’t need to ask. There aren’t any portraits to share of me and my family.” He winked, teasing Viktor for their little tour the night before. “I grew up in a small, seaside town in Japan. My parents own an inn, and I spent most of my childhood there.”</p><p>“Oh, Japan?” Viktor echoed, “I’d love to visit someday. Their borders have just opened, haven’t they?”</p><p>“They did, and I was one of the few in my town to leave… but my parents wanted me to see the world and expand my craft.” Yuuri replied, his attention focused very distinctly on Viktor’s left shoe.</p><p>Viktor wondered idly what would have happened if Yuuri had never left Japan, traveled so far to learn and become the artist he was. What if his mother had arranged for a different portraitist? Viktor never would have managed to enjoy himself even a tiny bit, had the man painting him been a grouchy old curmudgeon like the last artist tasked with painting him had been.</p><p>There certainly wouldn’t be a kind of ache in his heart as he realized what he had just asked his mother for… and that he and Yuuri would never be permitted to be together in the way Viktor might want. He craved to know more of Yuuri, to know who he was and hear stories from his past, but most importantly, to be part of his future.</p><p>Yuuri continued telling him about his home, his family, the inn that had been his family’s responsibility for generations. He told Viktor about his sister Mari and her cigarette habit, about his mother and his favorite food. It seemed as though the floodgates had opened, Yuuri’s mouth moving without stopping, sharing more and more as the day passed.</p><p>“Yuuri, did you, by chance, leave someone at home?” Viktor asked, watching as Yuuri’s cheeks colored. “Someone you were promised to? A lover?”</p><p>“No, no, no, no,” Yuuri interrupted, making Viktor laugh behind his hand. “I am not promised to anyone, nor is anyone promised to me.”</p><p>“Likewise,” Viktor said in a rush, the thought of competing for Yuuri’s hand clenching in his core in an ugly way. “You’re very beautiful when you paint.” Viktor breathed, the words coming out without a thought to stop them.</p><p>Yuuri’s lips curled upward in that soft way. “On the contrary, I’m quite the mess.” He argued, showing Viktor his hands covered in blue, white, green paint. “How you could find me beautiful begs whether or not you need spectacles.”</p><p>Viktor choked. “Are you questioning my taste in men, Yuuri?” Viktor balked dramatically. “I’ll have you know I’m a man of refined taste--”</p><p>“No, I wouldn’t dream of insulting your tastes, Viktor.” Yuuri interrupted with a strained, embarrassed laugh. “Merely wondering why <em>I</em>, of all people, am included in such an esteemed category.”</p><p>“Yuuri, you can’t truly think yourself not worthy?” Viktor asked and furrowed his brow, wondering how on earth such a beautiful man could insist he didn’t belong among the handful of men Viktor had deemed worthy of his affections. “Perhaps your glasses need to be replaced if you think so poorly of yourself.”</p><p>“It’s the truth.” Yuuri’s lower lip pressed into a firm line.</p><p>“Do I strike you as a liar, Yuuri? Or a flatterer?” Viktor replied, breaking his position despite Yuuri’s pinched expression. “I have absolutely no reason to lie to you.”</p><p>Yuuri sighed, a quiet, resigned thing. “Apologies, I don’t mean to offend. I struggle accepting your compliments, Viktor. I’ve never been anything but exceedingly ordinary.” Viktor’s heart fell to his feet as he watched Yuuri’s expression shift, from his usual soft smile to something forlorn, his eyes distant.</p><p>“I have to disagree.” Viktor breathed, his heart aching at the sudden distance between himself and Yuuri. “And I’d be eager to provide you with several compelling arguments to the contrary.” A small smile broke over Yuuri’s features; though it was brief, it was as though the sun had burst through the clouds, only for a moment.</p><p>“I could be convinced to listen to them,” Yuuri replied, his cheeks that lovely dusty rose color. “If you are being so doggedly persistent.”</p><p>VIktor couldn’t keep his smile at bay, surely contorting the expression Yuuri was attempting to paint, though the blue paint on the end of his brush told him he was still painting his trousers, or perhaps his jacket. Viktor took a small chance, what he had asked of his mother be damned.</p><p>“My arguments might be better heard at a closer distance than three meters.” Viktor said with a grin, watching as Yuuri’s cheeks colored again. “There may be stray ears about, I’d hate for them to hear me utter such filthy things as how beautiful I think you are, Yuuri.”</p><p>“Flatterer.” Yuuri replied gently, his words holding barely any bite.</p><p>“You’re too far,” Viktor repeated, “Won’t you come a bit closer?” He felt like a siren, luring his prey into the sea, though Viktor would just as soon be happier to have Yuuri in his arms.</p><p>“I have to be, Viktor, I need to see the flowers around you.” Yuuri replied, leaning away from his canvas to allow Viktor the sight of the end of his brush pressed against his plump lower lip. Viktor’s heart flipped in his chest.</p><p>“But if you’re closer you could see me even better.” A thick, heady pause hung over them, like the heat of the sun bearing down on Viktor’s shoulders through the trees.</p><p>“Perhaps I would like to see you closer at a later time…” Yuuri admitted, the sound of his voice a thrill utterly incomparable to anything Viktor had experienced before. “After dinner, perhaps? I depart in the morning, but if you would like… I would very much enjoy spending time with you.”</p><p>Viktor was saying yes before his mind registered the words. “Would you like a drink? I have a lovely aged brandy, or we could share some mulled wine? I know it is usually a winter drink, but it’s delicious, I cannot more highly recommend--”</p><p>“Viktor, I’m painting your cheeks.” Yuuri interrupted, the smile on his lips audible in his voice. “Please, be quiet.”</p><p>Viktor could barely keep still after that, his very being alive as if he’d been struck by lightning. The rest of the morning and afternoon passed with minimal grousing about the heat, though Yuuri was sure to tease him when it was revealed he had been given the choice to sit for his portrait inside.</p><p>“So you’ve subjected both of us to this heat on purpose, Viktor?” Yuuri said, his hand pressed to his chest. “How cruel of you to do such a thing.”</p><p>Viktor was left gasping at the insinuation, though playful. “Perhaps I could apologize later this evening?” He replied in a teasing lilt, realizing he’d never grow tired of Yuuri’s laugh in return. When they had finished their sitting, just before dinner, Viktor helped Yuuri carry all of his supplies back into the house, all the while Yuuri refused to let Viktor see the result. He insisted he had a few more minor corrections to make, perfecting the highlight in his eyes and the shine of the buttons on his tailcoat.</p><p>“Please, Yuuri? It’s <em>my</em> face…” Viktor teased as Yuuri propped up the canvas in the sitting room of his guest quarters.</p><p>“Yes but <em>your</em> face is <em>my</em> work,” Yuuri replied with a flush as Viktor stepped into the room. It was clear that both of them could feel the small act of social transgression they were committing, Viktor in the way he lingered in the doorway and Yuuri in the blush of his cheeks, the way his eyes continued to dart toward the door. “But if you insist.”</p><p>Viktor stepped fully into the room and hurried to Yuuri’s side to view the masterpiece; he was still left utterly speechless when he was allowed to see the final portrait.</p><p>“Oh… <em>Yuuri</em>…” Viktor breathed in awe, his perfect countenance captured in oil on canvas. “I’m a very vain man, but this… this is utterly heart-stopping.” Viktor’s hand twitched at his side, his arm aching to wrap around Yuuri’s waist, to hold him close, to thank him in the least appropriate ways he could imagine.</p><p>“There are still a lot of things I’d like to refine, I don’t think I got the shape of your nose perfect, and your trousers aren’t quite laying right over your calf…” Yuuri trailed off, pointing at his own shortcomings as if Viktor could see anything other than masterful art. It looked as though Yuuri had frozen a moment in time, effortlessly capturing his image forever.</p><p>“You’re brilliant, Yuuri.” Viktor said, his heart leaping into his mouth as Yuuri turned to him. The difference in their height was only slight, but the way Yuuri looked up into his eyes had his pulse rocketing skyward. “You did a magnificent job.”</p><p>A small breath escaped Yuuri then, an audible sound like a sigh filling the small space between them. “It was my pleasure. I had excellent company.” Yuuri said quietly. “And my subject was… <em>is</em>… beautiful.”</p><p>“If you think I’m beautiful, god only knows what you might think of yourself.” Viktor replied, equally quiet, equally reverent, equally awe-struck by the flutter of Yuuri’s lashes, the way his eyes flashed with something inviting, enticing.</p><p>Viktor’s hand moved without his mind’s control, finding the warm, round flesh of Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri gasped without removing himself from the touch. His eyes fluttered closed, those long lashes fanning out over his cheeks.</p><p>“Viktor…” Yuuri breathed, his own fingers touching the gloved hand caressing him.</p><p>“Yes?” Viktor asked gently, Yuuri’s closeness like a heady smoke, thick in the air and in his lungs. Yuuri’s lower lip disappeared into his mouth, worried between his teeth in a way that Viktor ached to do himself. His thumb found Yuuri’s lip and pulled it free, the flesh a beautiful pink. “What is it?”</p><p>Yuuri made another soft noise of surprise, melting in Viktor’s hand. “I…” Yuuri began, Viktor’s thumb still lingered on his lip, feeling the heat of his skin through his glove. “Viktor…”</p><p>Viktor wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but in the blink of an eye, two pairs of lips met, a soft, hushed breath shared between them. Yuuri gasped, twining both of his arms around Viktor’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Viktor sighed Yuuri’s name against his lips, the soft exhalation causing Yuuri’s mouth to fall open, their kiss to deepen.</p><p>Viktor would feel the heat in his core expanding like the birth of a new star, shuddering and hot, bright and instantaneous. The urge to push Yuuri into the plush window seat behind them grew impossible to ignore with the slight twitch of Yuuri’s hips against Viktor’s.</p><p>“V-Viktor,” Yuuri <em>moaned</em> against his mouth, his grip tightening as fists furled in the back of his jacket before abruptly disappearing, the warmth of Yuuri’s lips vanishing in an instant.</p><p>“What?” Viktor asked, his mind as confused as his body, an unexpected erection straining against the inside of his trousers. “Yuuri, is something wrong?”</p><p>“I… Viktor, we can’t,” Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat as he untangled himself from Viktor’s body. His eyes were wet, his lips kissed red and shining. “It’s not right, you’ll be Earl, I’m nothing--”</p><p>“You’re not nothing, Yuuri.” Viktor interrupted, fighting the urge to pull Yuuri back into him. He had felt so right there, despite every societal taboo the touch had crossed. “You’re talented and beautiful, captivating, and god, one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met, Yuuri.”</p><p>Yuuri’s cheeks were streaked with tears as he took another step backward, toward the door separating the bedroom from the rest of the room. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t.”</p><p>“Yuuri,” Viktor said, the word more a plea than anything. “Yuuri, please,”</p><p>“You need to leave.” Yuuri said, his voice distant, quiet. “Now. Please.”</p><p>Viktor’s heart clenched as it crumbled, Yuuri’s rejection a smooth stone thrown through an old window, shattering it easily. He bowed, uttering a quiet “please, forgive me” and taking his leave, pulling the door shut. Tears pearled in his eyes as he walked the remaining way to his own rooms, where he shut himself in and did not emerge for dinner, even when his father personally attempted to extricate him from his bed.</p><p>He called for a decanter of brandy to be brought up sometime around sunset, sitting at his bedroom window until the sun slowly rose from the other side of the horizon. A single rider wearing simple traveler’s clothes emerged from the stables just after dawn, a small rucksack on his shoulders.</p><p>Viktor watched as long as he was able, as Yuuri disappeared from sight. He felt a piece of himself riding away over the hill as well, cursing himself for destroying his final chance at convincing Yuuri to stay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please don't be mad at me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Autumn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Viktor copes with Yuuri's absence and finds something he left behind.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuuri left behind the portrait with a note in careful script to allow it to dry for at least thirty days before applying any lacquer or framing it. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to move it from where Yuuri had left it, on the easel in the guest quarters. He could still hear Yuuri’s laugh, see him teasing the end of his brush between his lips.</p>
<p>At the bedside, Yuuri had forgotten a leatherbound book, a charcoal pencil being used as a place marker. Viktor bit his lip, knowing he couldn’t possibly intrude on Yuuri’s privacy in such a way.</p>
<p>But the curiosity ate at his core as time passed, the book a heavy weight on his desk. A month after Yuuri's departure, the painting was sent off for lacquering and framing, Viktor could wait no more; with an uttered apology to Yuuri under his breath, Viktor opened the book.</p>
<p>It fell open to the page Yuuri had clearly last visited, a half-finished sketch of Viktor’s own face looked back at him from the page dated June fifteenth, their first day in the gardens. It was startling, the sudden appearance of himself in what he realized was a sketchbook, though nothing was as surprising as what met his eye when he flipped back a page.</p>
<p>"Oh… <em>Yuuri</em>…" Viktor breathed as his eyes feasted on the sketch of a nude figure, muscled in every perfect way, though lacking a face. There were half-finished drawings of hands and feet, tendons stretched taut and veins standing out under skin smooth as carved marble.</p>
<p>Viktor couldn't stop himself from flipping page after page, admiring the various drawings of naked forms, feeling every bit the disobedient teen, seeking out the licentious, the scandalous, the lewd. He couldn’t help but imagine Yuuri, sitting in a small circle of artists around a nude form to draw, to explore the lines and shapes of… and a discomforting jealousy settled in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>How could he possibly have a claim to Yuuri that way? He didn’t deserve to be jealous, though the feeling raged on like a brushfire.</p>
<p>Viktor nearly dropped the book on its spine when he turned the page to find Yuuri, those same full lips, those same heavy-lidded eyes staring back at him in charcoal. He was drawn nude, his body laid out on a sofa, one arm draped over the armrest. He was utter perfection, and Viktor almost closed the book in effort to preserve Yuuri’s modesty, but he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away.</p>
<p>Yuuri was a fatale, enthralling and impossibly erotic; all of him stretched out and sketched in vivid detail. He imagined Yuuri, lying this way, in front of a mirror, refining the shapes of his own hips, the lines of his plush thighs, the insistent, commanding curve of his cock, hard where it jutted out from his body amidst a dark patch of hair.</p>
<p>Viktor felt himself twitch in his trousers at the sight, so easily replacing the drawing with his Yuuri, the flesh and bone Yuuri who had kissed him, who had touched him, who had completely and utterly ruined him in the space of two days.</p>
<p>Guilt and bittersweet sorrow crept into Viktor’s throat as he pushed his hand into his trousers, pulling at his cock with efficient strokes. Yuuri’s name tumbled from his lips as he set the sketchbook on his bed; bent in half, Viktor stared at the drawing of Yuuri’s nude frame, calling out to him, begging to be witnessed in the real world, not simply on paper.</p>
<p>“Yuuri, god, Yuuri…” Viktor moaned, his hips bucking into his hand. He spilled with a muffled moan behind his free hand, a tear carving its path down Viktor’s cheek.</p>
<p>He had to write to him, he had to set things right. Even if he was to marry a stranger instead of Yuuri, as every fiber of his being wished to, he had to apologize.</p>
<p>He had to see him again, even just one more time.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <hr/>
</div><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>24th October, 1869</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Yuuri,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I hope this finds you well, enjoying autumn as you mentioned you do, in June. Is it odd to ask how you are? Did the summer treat you well?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I am well aware of the way things ended between you and I, abruptly, with my lack of decorum and care for your modesty, your propriety, for which I apologize endlessly. I am horribly, indescribably sorry for making you uncomfortable. The guilt has eaten me from the inside out, rotting like molding bread in my core. I pray one day you can forgive me for such impertinence.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Every time I pass the portrait you painted, I think of you. It hangs in the great hall, between those of my father and my mother, and I see it every day. I can’t help but reach out and touch it, remembering the days we shared in the gardens. My mother had it framed in gold, and I thought it might clash unfortunately with the color of my hair, but somehow, it only looks even more perfect than before. The gold reminds me of you, Yuuri; the gold in your eyes, the sunshine glittering in your mahogany browns so intently watching as I complained and groused about the heat for hours. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Yuuri, I would like to commission another portrait, one of a personal nature. Enclosed is the address of my permanent residence. If you do not wish to see me again, I will understand, simply do not reply to my correspondence. But if you wish to accept my commission, for which I will pay double what my parents paid in the summer, please reply. I will also gladly cover your travel and lodging expenses, should you wish not to stay here. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I hope to hear from you soon. Makkachin misses you terribly. As do I.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Earnestly,</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Viktor </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Viktor swallowed the painful lump in his throat as he plucked the unused sealing candle from his desk drawer, the rich royal blue color felt heavy in his hand as he struck the match, lighting the wick and watching melted wax bead up under the flame. One by one the drops of melted blue splashed onto the parchment, the color so strikingly similar to his roses that it made his heart ache. All he could hope was that Yuuri would agree, that he could see his smile one last time, to apologize in full and to return the sketchbook he had found in Yuuri’s room after he finished the portrait.</p>
<p>Viktor’s hand hovered over his row of seals, the Nikiforov family crest, the one gifted to him by his <em>dedushka</em> after his service in the Russo-Persian wars, bearing his rank. The bright silver seal of his initials was certainly appropriate, newly crafted as a birthday gift the previous winter… the playful and crudely phallic seal Christophe had sent him during his travels was absolutely out of question.</p>
<p>Viktor’s hand moved without a thought, and he pressed the seal down, his heart leaping up into his throat when he realized which he had chosen. When the wax had cooled he peeled away the metal seal, revealing the stamp he had bought for himself, years ago, when he was still young and green.</p>
<p>In a wreath of roses laid the script he had commissioned; <em>life and love</em> in cursive Cyrillic rested in rich blue wax, and <em>god</em>, Viktor’s heart throbbed at the sight of it. Such a desperate plea, such an obvious statement of his intentions, the blue representing romantic love…</p>
<p>He shook himself out of his thoughts and stood from his writing desk, more than eager for the ride to the post office. He knew quite well that his parents had staff to manage such matters, and that his father would be much aggrieved to learn that he neglected to make use of his valet. But Viktor knew he had to do this on his own, lest someone’s loose lips convey such a secret to his family.</p>
<p>A nobleman, the son of an Earl, yearning for the company of a painter.</p>
<p>There would be a scandal, such a transgression of norms… Viktor’s family would surely suffer at the hands of town gossips and the sheer disgrace, but damn it all, Viktor would give everything for just another moment with Yuuri.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s smile filled his mind as he tacked his horse and swung himself up into her saddle. He imagined riding along the countryside with Yuuri, finding a quiet meadow to take a picnic lunch. Maybe he’d bring a bottle of good wine, and they’d drink it all, laughing and smiling and exchanging messy kisses among the dandelions. Tangling his fingers in Yuuri’s thick raven hair, exploring skin under a canopy of oak trees, moans underscored by birdsong and cicadas as the sun began to set...</p>
<p>A sharp pang of pain hit him in the groin, immediately sending any of those arousing thoughts into the back of his mind. While in the saddle is not the best time to have an erection, Viktor reminded himself with a grimace. He set his thoughts on the letter stashed in his saddlebag, of the request he had made to Yuuri, of the sketches he had seen in that burgundy leather-bound book.</p>
<p>A chill ran down his spine and he urged Galya into a gallop; the chilly autumn wind in his hair almost distracted him from the thoughts of nude forms in Yuuri’s sketchbook.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>Every afternoon, Viktor asked Georgi, his father’s valet, if he had any letters, to the point that Gosha didn’t even have to look up from his desk in his father’s office to know who was standing in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Nothing for you today, Vitya.” was his reply, sending Viktor away every afternoon with a tug on his heartstrings. November passed without reply from Yuuri, and Viktor felt his heart breaking in his chest. Maybe the post was simply slow in bringing him his letter, or perhaps it became lost. It wasn’t uncommon for mail to go missing in the colder months. Snow was already blanketing the region in thick, heavy drifts, dooming Viktor to remain inside, to busy himself with reading and dinners with friends of his parents, tea with his cousins when they came to call.</p>
<p>His mother had yet to arrange any meetings with suitors or potential matches, always smiling fondly if Viktor inquired of her progress.</p>
<p>“We haven’t found someone yet. Don’t worry about it, Vitya. I’ll help you find the right one.” She would always say, patting his cheek tenderly. Viktor couldn’t help but think of Yuuri every time.</p>
<p>Days blurred to weeks and the chill of December sank into Viktor’s very core, the cold refusing to dispel even when he dragged a chair as close to the hearth as he could. Over dinner, Viktor’s parents informed him of a holiday gala they had been invited to attend, and would be leaving him in charge of the estate in their three-week absence. They had time allotted for travel and plenty of visits with acquaintances there, and Viktor knew he would be glad for their departure, as horrible as it was.</p>
<p>The quiet was soothing, leaving Viktor to his own devices away from disapproving eyes. Perhaps he’d invite Chris to spend the holidays with him. Or perhaps he would simply enjoy the time alone, with Makkachin. Anything to keep him from the thoughts of an arranged match, though he honestly had asked for it. It was the next morning that Georgi delivered a small envelope to him, sending his heart into his throat.</p>
<p>“Breakfast, Vitya.” Georgi’s voice pulled Viktor out of sleep, pushing aside the heavy curtains to reveal an alarming amount of sunlight. He had taken to having his breakfast in bed, an act that he knew his mother utterly despised. The dark mornings made it even more difficult to get out of bed, Viktor’s persistent depressive mood notwithstanding.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Gosha,” Viktor mumbled as Georgi laid his tray on the bed beside him.</p>
<p>“Also, this arrived with apologies from the postmaster this morning. There was some kind of mishap with postage, I’m told.” Georgi explained, holding the off-white envelope in his hands.</p>
<p>“Who is it from?” Viktor asked, only daring to hope. Georgi passed him the envelope, address facing upward. Addressed to himself, from a <em>Katsuki, Y</em>. Viktor could have wept for how glad he was to receive it. He turned the envelope over in his hands, and what he saw truly did bring tears to his eyes.</p>
<p>In deepest blue was a Japanese character that Viktor didn’t recognize, and god, did he crave to know the translation. The blue seal was almost the same shade as the one Viktor had sent a month ago, as if Yuuri had matched it. Viktor’s heart soared as he carefully opened the envelope, Georgi respectfully pulling the door shut behind him.</p>
<p>His breakfast all but forgotten, Viktor began to read Yuuri’s reply, his neat handwriting so quintessentially <em>Yuuri</em> it was like he was speaking the words to him, not writing them.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>12th November, 1869</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Viktor,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Hearing from you is truly wonderful, I was beginning to think I might not receive another chance to speak with you. Summer treated me well, though I’ll admit to spending most of it with a horrible lack of inspiration. The highlight of my summer was meeting you. I do not regret a moment of it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Do know that I have forgiven you wholly, but I wish to discuss it further.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I’m sorry that you have been so troubled over your guilt, I hope it has since subsided, at least in part. I am also struggling with guilt, as I did not explain myself at the time. I often struggle with matters of nerves and often succumb to fear and weakness, and I apologize. (The seal of this letter is most ironic in that regard, the character reads courage, as well as my first name.) I hope we can come to some sort of understanding through conversation, when I arrive. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I gratefully accept your commission but not your compensation, we will discuss this further when I arrive. I will begin arrangements soon, I hope this finds you in good health and good spirits. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Thank you, Viktor. I look forward to seeing you again. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Yours,</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Yuuri</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>P.S. </em>
    <br/>
    <em>You wouldn’t by chance have found a leather sketchbook, would you? I misplaced mine during my stay.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Viktor couldn’t bite back a squeal of delight as he held the letter to his chest, that Yuuri hadn’t forgotten about him, that he was eager to see him again, and that he forgave him for the kiss. Oh, Viktor’s chest felt like it might burst with joy.</p>
<p>His breakfast was truly forgotten when he threw himself out of bed and quickly dressed, hurrying down to his study to draft an immediate reply. If there had been a delay in delivering Yuuri’s letter, he would have to fight to ensure his own letter was not lost in the post as well. He would certainly owe Galya an apple or four for taking her out in the snow, but oh, would it be worth it.</p>
<p>Wrapped in fur with his reply held close to his heart, he took off for the post office, the cold merely a gentle breeze in his hair as the thoughts of seeing Yuuri again kept him warm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yuuri returns, apologies are offered, penance is made.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>welcome to the entire reason I wrote this fic, based on <a href="https://twitter.com/icoo3o/status/1089119720031236097?s=20"> this art</a> from twitter, in which yuuri draws viktor like one of his french boys</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Viktor’s heart was in his throat when he received word that Yuuri had arrived on the grounds. He had given his valet and the footmen strict instructions to forward to Yuuri; he insisted that Georgi give him the sealed envelope marked with only Yuuri’s first name and the deep blue seal.</p><p>Within were the instructions to follow Vasily as he led him through the halls and into Viktor’s rooms, scripted in Viktor’s careful hand.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I apologize for not meeting you myself, Yuuri. I will explain when I see you. Follow Vasily, the man with the large moustache. Try not to laugh, it’s an art I’ve had to perfect over the years. I’ve arranged to have an easel ready in my sitting room, please make yourself comfortable there. I can’t wait to see you again, Yuuri.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Viktor heard the doors opening, and his valet made sure to ring his bells in warning. The gentle chime of them sent a thrill down to the core of him as he reviewed himself in the mirror again after crawling off the bed. He had taken a few moments to indulge his vanity, adding a soft dusting of pale powder to his cheeks and nose, a gentle sweep of blush on his already reddened cheeks. He knew he was walking a fine line, his plan hung by a gossamer thin thread, placing his reputation in Yuuri’s hands, praying that he had read Yuuri’s unwritten words correctly.</p><p>The sketchbook in his hands was full of artistically posed nude bodies, muscle stretched over ridged rib cages, sloped jawlines and tendons pulling skin taut. Pouted, full lips and deep valleys between bunched abdominal and pectoral muscle… it made Viktor crave the attentive eye of his artist on his own bare skin.</p><p>He heard the slow creak of his main door opening, the soft, sweet voice of Yuuri thanking his valet and the door pulled closed again. Viktor’s heart leapt up into his throat as he tightened the drawstring of his robe again, his bare feet on the cool wooden floor moving of their own volition toward the door. He paused for a moment on the other side of his bedroom door, having ensured no one would be bothering them for the rest of the day and evening, and into the following morning, though he prayed the former wasn’t wishful thinking.</p><p>He heard Yuuri moving in the room beyond, surely setting a canvas on the easel, perhaps sketching the plush red sofa before him… Oh god, Viktor couldn’t wait another moment.</p><p>He pushed the door open slowly, flushing at the mere sight of Yuuri, having moved the easel aside, instead finding a place on the soft armchair across the room, a large board in his lap, a box of charcoal pencils resting on it, as well as a small sheaf of paper. He had removed his overcoat, the dark blue brocade hanging on the coat rack near the door of Viktor’s rooms. He only hoped that Yuuri had worn a heavier coat, that was removed by his staff at the door and taken to his rooms.</p><p>“Yuuri…” Viktor breathed, his lips curling upward without his control, his voice so light it might blow away on the lightest breeze. “Thank you for coming, I was so worried I had destroyed my chance to see you again.”</p><p>Yuuri sat in silence, his mouth open gently, his cheeks bright red. Viktor pulled the sketchbook from behind his back. “Oh, I… I’m glad you found that,” Yuuri stammered, unable to take his eyes off Viktor as he crossed the room in nothing but his dressing gown.</p><p>“You left it behind, back in June. After we...” Viktor trailed off, feeling the heat of Yuuri’s gaze on him, warm and weighty on his forearms, the sliver of his chest revealed by his robe. “I hope you don’t find it terribly rude of me to have looked through it?”</p><p>“I… no, I don’t mind,” Yuuri’s eyes went wide as he extended a hand to take the book. He swallowed thickly, Viktor’s eyes wholly focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple. God, just that alone felt obscene in this context. “I just hope you don’t think less of me for its contents.”</p><p>Viktor’s heart hiccupped and he shook his head immediately. “Oh, no, of course not,” he replied, turning and taking a set at the edge of the sofa, crossing his legs carefully. “I would never think less of an artist for appreciating the art of the human body.”</p><p>Yuuri visibly relaxed at that. “There is certainly art in the human form,” he replied softly, his eyes flickering down to Viktor’s dressing gown again. “Did you… enjoy them?”</p><p>“Oh, Yuuri, I did. Your figure drawing abilities are incredible. The one of you was beyond compare…” Viktor praised, “But other than yourself, I have no idea why you’d choose such underendowed models.” he said, the lilt of a tease in his tone. Yuuri flushed dark red, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. “Was the downscaling of their genitalia a... <em>stylistic</em> choice?”</p><p>“No... I drew exactly as I saw them.” Yuuri replied, and a small, petty part of Viktor rejoiced for it, being rather well acquainted with his own endowment.</p><p>”Oh…” Viktor replied, in a sigh, seeing the way Yuuri shifted in his seat. This was a dangerous game they were playing, though nonetheless exciting. “That certainly is a pity… is there any merit to asking if you would, perhaps, like to sketch something with a touch of <em>variety</em>?” Viktor colored his tone with something playful, his eyebrow arching up as Yuuri’s posture shifted again, crossing and uncrossing his legs.</p><p>“What are you asking, Viktor?” Yuuri asked, the tone of his voice as earnest as it was tentative.</p><p>Viktor took a quick, centering breath. “Draw me, like those sketches?” He asked, his words coming out tangled in one another. “Please, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of it, of you, drawing me like those men.”</p><p>Yuuri’s gaze grew darker, heavier, somehow, as he stood, setting his lap desk down on the armchair. He moved slowly, with the grace of a dancer, the ease of a python in the trees. Viktor felt the stirring of arousal in his core at the display, his heart beating faster as Yuuri closed the distance between them, setting his right hand on the folds of his robe.</p><p>“If you wish to be drawn like the men in my sketchbook, Viktor,” Yuuri said, his voice no louder than a whisper, “You’re wearing far too much.”</p><p>Viktor let out a soft, breathy noise as he nodded, Yuuri’s hand slipped over the silk of his gown; lower and lower his hand moved, finding the knotted drawstring withholding all of Viktor from sight.</p><p>“May I?” Yuuri asked, Viktor’s blurted affirmative came so fast it was embarrassing. Yuuri chuckled, a dark, husky sound, as quick fingers made easy work of the knot at Viktor’s navel. The robe fell open, exposing Viktor to the chill of the room, though Yuuri’s attention had him burning. “Off, Viktor.” Yuuri directed, and Viktor rolled his shoulders, letting the material slide from his body, shuddering to the ground in a silky pool around his feet.</p><p>“Am I… to your liking?” Viktor breathed, feeling his core clench impossibly tighter as Yuuri’s gaze trailed southward, his sex half-hard between his legs.</p><p>“Oh Viktor,” Yuuri replied, slowly lifting his eyes back to Viktor’s, warm mahogany brown nearly occluded by black pupil. “You’re the finest model I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>The praise sat like hot coals in Viktor’s stomach. He clung to every murmured instruction that passed Yuuri’s lips like a life preserver on a sinking ship, it was his salvation, his rescue, his hope to survive. He let Yuuri’s voice was over him, obeying diligently as he was told to lay back, to raise one arm over the armrest of the sofa, to gently caress his temple with the other, fingers ever so slightly curled.</p><p>Yuuri didn’t touch him, but that did nothing to temper Viktor’s ache to make it so; his very being cried out for Yuuri’s hand, his fingers to trace his features as they had that summer. Once Yuuri was happy with his pose, he sank into the armchair again, adjusting his posture slightly in a way that made it obvious he was stifling an erection.</p><p>Viktor did his best to restrain himself, to clamp down on his body’s reaction to seeing Yuuri again, to being naked under Yuuri’s inspection, but it proved nearly impossible. Viktor’s cock was hard and twitching against his stomach within minutes, Yuuri’s devilish smirk only accelerated the flames licking at his core.</p><p>He felt Yuuri’s gaze on him as a physical weight, warm like the summer sun in the gardens all those months ago, but more intense, more insistent. Yuuri’s eyes slid from Viktor’s body to his paper and back and forth, his ebony brows furrowed as he sketched. Viktor watched as his pink tongue poked between his lips again, but only to wet them this time; it flicked over his lower lip and Viktor could only imagine feeling Yuuri’s tongue on him in every sexual way.</p><p>“Viktor, stop squirming.” Yuuri murmured, his voice, despite being a whisper, was nearly too loud for the space. “I cannot draw you if you cannot hold still.”</p><p>Viktor whimpered, his cock jumping at the reprimand. Never had he longed to submit to authority as he did to Yuuri. His chest ached for approval, for Yuuri to be pleased with him, for Yuuri’s lips to curl up in that playful smile. He whispered an apology and trembled in place, feeling every bit the desperate mess he surely looked.</p><p>The room was hot, nearly too hot, as he flushed from his cheeks to his chest. His nipples had peaked, and god, how he longed for Yuuri’s plush lips to wrap around one of them, both of them, for his talented fingers to pluck at them, to make him moan and gasp in every sinful way. Never before had Viktor been so painfully aroused as that very moment, his balls tightening and drawing closer to his body with the urge to spend.</p><p>“Yuuri--” Viktor began, silenced by Yuuri’s disappointed tutting. “Please,” he continued despite the playful disapproval.</p><p>“Please <em>what?</em>” Yuuri purred, his pencil hovering over the page, and Viktor swore he could feel the tip of it, charcoal defining his very lines, committing his likeness to paper, despite his every wish to float away into oblivion.</p><p>“Please, I… I’m so hard,” Viktor admitted quietly, nodding down at his cock, so erect it almost hurt. His flesh was red and taut, his foreskin pulling back to reveal his head, glistening with precome. “Yuuri, I need, I <em>need</em>.” He begged, for nothing in particular, only hoping that Yuuri would take pity on him and allow him to move, to touch himself.</p><p>“As do I, Viktor.” Yuuri breathed, spreading his legs in a lewd display before crossing them again. Viktor swore he saw a damp patch in his trousers, above the obscene tent between his legs. “But you’ve asked me to draw you, and I intend to do so. I should hope a man of your age could control himself for a while longer.”</p><p>Viktor felt rubbed raw by Yuuri’s words, left open and wholly seen. He felt he could cry with frustration as he bit his lower lip, attempting to use the pain to ground himself. How horribly desperate, Viktor laughed at himself in his mind, to be so unable to control himself that he would have to fight to maintain control of his biology in such a way.</p><p>Yuuri scowled at his paper, before balling it up in his hands and throwing it over his shoulder. “Ah, I’m glad my model is so patient with me,” Yuuri murmured, his expression sly as Viktor’s mouth hung open in horror. “Now, if you would please, continue to remain still.”</p><p>“Yuuri, you’re so cruel,” Viktor whimpered, “I can’t do this, I can’t,”</p><p>“You can,” Yuuri instisted, his voice just as sharp as it was before. “Unless you’re willing to ruin another perfectly good drawing, and add to the cost of this commission…”</p><p>Viktor sobbed, willing to do anything for relief, including paying Yuuri as much as he wanted for such an expense. “Anything, I’ll pay you anything, you know that.”</p><p>Yuuri leaned back in the armchair, watching as Viktor’s hand wrapped around himself, the sudden sensation making him hiss. He was so sensitive it felt as if his hand had burned him. His voice came in desperate gasps, earning him another playfully disappointed look.</p><p>“Hold still.” Yuuri instructed, peering across the room at him, a confidence Viktor had only seen in spare moments shining through in full.</p><p>“Yuuri, please,” Viktor gasped, rocking into his own fist as his body clenched tighter and tighter. “Please, I’m so close, I need to finish--”</p><p>“No.” Yuuri demanded, every cell in Viktor’s body was compelled to obey, his arm stopped frozen in place, his cock throbbed fruitlessly in his hand. “Hold. Still. Until I lay down my pencil, you will not move.” Viktor’s body screamed at the lack of stimulation, but his hand fell away as well, curling into a tight fist resting on his stomach. It was so hard to ignore, damn near impossible, but the way Yuuri kept his heated, lust-filled eyes trained on him, he didn’t dare disobey.</p><p>The only sounds in the room were the ticking clock in the corner, the scratch of Yuuri’s pencil against the paper and Viktor’s own labored breathing, rapid and heavy through his nose.</p><p>“Your chest keeps moving, Viktor.” Yuuri reminded him after a few minutes, and just the sound of his voice had Viktor whimpering, writhing in his place on the couch. “Please do your best to hold still, or I’ll have to start over again.”</p><p>Viktor’s heart clenched at the thought and he did his best to steady his breathing, attempting to slow it, attempting to bring himself back into submission; his body had other plans. Viktor’s cock flinched at every soft noise Yuuri made, the gentle humming, the soft <em>oh, lovely’s</em> that fell from his tongue. Even the reprimands had him craving more.</p><p>After what felt to Viktor like hours, Yuuri finally set his pencil on the table beside him, admiring his own work. Viktor ached to see what he had created, but he couldn’t contain himself for even a moment longer. His hand flew to his cock and he came with a scream after barely a full stroke of his length.</p><p>Yuuri’s eyebrows darted toward his hairline at the sudden sound, peering over the tops of his glasses at Viktor, panting and covered in his own spend. His orgasm had such force it sent seed splattering up to his chin. Viktor could barely breathe, couldn’t hear anything other than his own pulse thrumming in his ears.</p><p>“Such a desperate boy.” Yuuri teased, setting aside the pad of paper and his sketch and crossing the room, shedding his waistcoat in the process. “Are you satisfied, Viktor? Now that you’ve made a mess of yourself?”</p><p>His voice pulled Viktor back to the surface from the blissful dark of his climax. He hummed gently at the question he had only half heard, blinking bleary eyes at Yuuri, trying to put him in focus.</p><p>“Mmm,” Viktor hummed, the sight of Yuuri in only his shirtsleeves such a welcome one he felt as though he had ascended through the pearly gates. “Thank you for coming back.”</p><p>Yuuri smiled and removed a handkerchief from his trousers pocket, moving slowly to collect the cooling spend covering Viktor’s stomach and chest. “Thank you for seeking me out.” Yuuri replied as he swept the fabric over Viktor’s skin. He shuddered, his orgasm having rendered him hypersensitive. “Too much?” Yuuri asked, alarmed.</p><p>Viktor shook his head slowly. “No, not too much,” he confirmed. “A lot, but not too much.” Yuuri smiled, in the way that reached his eyes, sparkling and bright in that beautiful amber tone. “Did you have safe travels?”</p><p>“I did,” Yuuri said, his voice smooth and soft in Viktor’s ears. “The carriage you arranged for me was wonderfully comfortable.” Viktor hummed happily, excessively glad to hear such a thing. When the mess had been cleaned, Yuuri set the handkerchief aside, easing Viktor into an upright position, his hair mussed in the back. “You did so well, Viktor. I hope you aren’t cross with me for denying you for so long.”</p><p>Viktor laughed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s mouth. “Oh, please, do not apologize for doing such a wonderful thing to me.” He purred, holding Yuuri’s cheeks in his hands and feeling the warmth of them, unmitigated by gloves for the first time. “That denial is what I deserve, for being so rude to you.”</p><p>Yuuri’s smile waned for a moment. “I… I was the rude one, Viktor.” Yuuri breathed, sighing into another kiss from Viktor. “I refused you and left without explaining myself… I’m the cruel one here.”</p><p>“No, oh, darling, no, please,” Viktor breathed, his words coming out in a rush. “Please, don’t take the blame.” He tugged Yuuri into himself, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s body. Here, pressed together this way, Viktor could feel the hard press of Yuuri's cock against his stomach, his poor Yuuri was still holding back.</p><p>Viktor caught Yuuri's lips with his own, a soft shudder rolling through Yuuri's body. "I just… I was so afraid," Yuuri mumbled against Viktor's mouth, "That I might pull you into a scandal, that your reputation would be ruined, that being with me would… would destroy you."</p><p>Viktor shook his head, kissing Yuuri deeper, allowing his lips to part gently. "You would be worth the scandal, Yuuri. You would be worth every errant eye, every cruel glance, every tittered word from every gossip’s mouth.” Viktor said, pushing all of his honesty, all of himself into the words. “Because <em>you</em>, Yuuri… oh, god, I can’t live without you for another moment.”</p><p>“I feel the same,” Yuuri said, his voice tight, like he might be on the verge of tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, every time I picked up a brush, I only wanted to paint you, your eyes, your smile.” Yuuri’s chest was heaving and he began to loosen his cravat. “Every time I closed my eyes, you were there, and it drove me mad with need.”</p><p>Viktor pulled in a sharp breath as he pulled the soft necktie from Yuuri’s throat, exposing the dark flush of his skin. “Oh, love, I was the same. I looked for you, at every gathering, every gala. I asked my friends if they had seen you, I nearly went mad searching for you in every room.”</p><p>Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, a moan slipping from between his lips. “Viktor,” he uttered, “Viktor, I’m sorry I ran,” Yuuri whispered hoarsely, shucking his shirt between kisses, gasping as Viktor smoothed his hands up over his chest. “I couldn’t force you to stay with someone as lowly as myself,”</p><p>Viktor recoiled at the thought. “Nonsense, you’re the only one I want. Scorch the land, salt the earth, I want to be yours and only yours, Yuuri.” Viktor breathed, not a word of it false. “I’m sorry I kissed you unexpectedly.” he added, his fingers finding pebbled nipples and teasing them with short-cropped fingernails. Yuuri whimpered at the sensation, kicking off his shoes and fumbling with the fastening of his trousers.</p><p>“Never apologize for that.” Yuuri instructed sharply, his eyes burning, demanding. “We’ve both paid enough recompense for our actions.” Yuuri leaned down and pushed his pants down over his ass, and oh, the feel of Yuuri’s sumptuous flesh under Viktor’s bare hands was divine.</p><p>“That we have,” Viktor gasped as Yuuri wrapped his hand around his cock and pulled, flicking his wrist over the weeping head of him without mercy. “Oh, <em>god</em>, Yuuri, that feels heavenly,” he praised, pulling his lower lip between his teeth with a moan. “Fuck me, please, it’s all I could think about.”</p><p>Yuuri’s lips twitched upward at the plea. “You filthy man,” Yuuri purred, ducking down to capture his lips again, moaning into his mouth. “Imagining your artist fucking you in the sitting room, letting your lewd imagination run wild.” Viktor whimpered at the filthy words, wondering how Yuuri managed to keep such an effortlessly innocent facade over this fatale, this perfect embodiment of everything erotic and beautiful.</p><p>“You wish me to fuck you?” Yuuri moaned in Viktor’s ear, his breath hot against his skin as he opened his mouth, pulling his earlobe between his teeth. “Is that what you’ve been fantasizing about all this time? My cock inside you?”</p><p>“Yes, god, Yuuri, yes!” Viktor cried, arching into Yuuri’s half-nude body arched over his own. In a moment, Yuuri’s heat was gone from Viktor’s, it had disappeared entirely. “What?” he asked, confused, and Yuuri nodded at the door across the room.</p><p>“I won’t have you on the couch.” Yuuri said, his voice brimming with lust and fire. “Take me to your bed.”</p><p>Viktor stood so fast it made him dizzy, most of the blood in his body focused on his nether regions instead of his head. He took Yuuri’s hand and guided him through the sitting room into his private quarters, a fire still roaring in the hearth, gratefully. Yuuri let his trousers fall to his feet, and Viktor knew without a doubt he would never want another.</p><p>Yuuri was perfect, and Viktor said as much, uttering the word like a pious man’s prayer, worshipping at the altar of Yuuri’s plush thighs.</p><p>“On the bed, Viktor.” Yuuri said quietly, the directive as imperative as it was for Viktor to breathe. He scrambled up into his bed, thankful he had allowed someone to make it after he woke that morning. “On your back, darling.” Yuuri directed again, and Viktor obeyed, letting the smooth fabric of his bedding cradle his spine and a pillow at his head.</p><p>Yuuri crawled up onto the mattress with slippery ease, and Viktor felt himself stirring again. “You’re gorgeous, Yuuri,” Viktor breathed, his cheeks burning red.</p><p><em>”Au contraire,”</em> Yuuri whispered, “I think that’s you, Viktor. <em>My</em> gorgeous Viktor.” The emphasis has Viktor’s spine tingling, Yuuri’s gaze again pinning him to the bed.</p><p>“Yes, yours, I’m yours, Yuuri.” Viktor agreed, his head spinning. “Please, make love to me, I feel I’ll die if you don’t,” Viktor begged, spreading his legs lewdly, exposing himself without any shame. Yuuri licked his lips, and Viktor watched as Yuuri realized it.</p><p>“You opened yourself up, didn’t you?” Yuuri asked in a whisper, “You were planning that I would fuck you tonight, weren’t you?”</p><p>Viktor couldn’t help but nod. He had only just finished when Yuuri arrived. “Yes, I did, I wanted to be ready, if I was given the chance to be with you.” Yuuri slotted himself between Viktor’s thighs, caging him in with his arms, set wide around Viktor's shoulders. “I’ve dreamt of this, Yuuri, imagined having this second chance with you.”</p><p>Yuuri blew out an awe-struck breath. “I am the luckiest man alive,” he said, leaning down and kissing Viktor’s lips breathless.</p><p>“Mmm, I think that would be me, <em>lyubov moya</em>.” Viktor teased when they parted, smiling at the way Yuuri’s cheeks flushed. “You’re so beautiful when you laugh, Yuuri.”</p><p>Yuuri’s smile widened and he covered his face with his hands, his sweet, shy Yuuri returning for a moment in the middle of their heated tryst would always be what Viktor remembered of that night.</p><p>“Do you have any oil?” Yuuri whispered, and Viktor nodded to the beside bureau. Yuuri quickly found the small, half-empty bottle and uncorked it, pouring a healthy amount into his hand and slicking himself up with a wet, lewd squelch. Viktor shivered at the sound, already imagining his own body making such noises, his wet entrance sloppily gripping at Yuuri’s length as he filled him…</p><p>“Yuuri, please,” VIktor gasped, his imagination getting the better of him and he could wait no longer. “I need you inside me.”</p><p>Yuuri moaned at the admission and nodded, aligning himself with Viktor’s hole and pushing in slowly. The heat of his cock made Viktor gasp, after his body had been exposed to the cold of the room for so long while he drew. Slowly, Yuuri worked his way inside, rocking himself in centimeter by centimeter until Viktor was babbling, begging for more. He reached greedy hands upward to Yuuri, aching to feel his lover touch him, to be closer, to envelop him wholly and never let go.</p><p>Yuuri bottomed out with a gasp, their skin flush to each other and he fell forward, letting Viktor wrap his arms around his body, holding him close. “You’re so perfect, Viktor, like god himself made you just for my cock,” Yuuri breathed, and Viktor gasped at the sacrilege; though he could hardly deny just how sinfully good it felt to hold Yuuri within him this way.</p><p>“Perhaps I was,” Viktor replied, moaning wantonly as Yuuri pulled himself out and pushed himself back in, dragging with perfect friction against Viktor’s inner walls. “P-perhaps I was made simply to be yours, to warm your bed and love you endlessly.”</p><p>Yuuri gasped, pulling his lip between his teeth in a clear effort to stave himself off. “Viktor, I won’t… <em>fuck</em>, I won’t be lasting long,” he admitted, and Viktor <em>loved</em> the way such an obscenity sounded on Yuuri’s tongue. “I’ve been waiting for this for far too long…”</p><p>“Then don’t last long, darling.” Viktor encouraged, cupping Yuuri’s cheek and guiding one of his hands toward his own straining erection. “I won’t either. Please, don’t delay any longer, fuck me, Yuuri.”</p><p>Yuuri sprang to life with the direction, a soft symphony of moans rumbling to life between them as Yuuri’s hips began to snap against Viktor’s own, skin slapped wetly against skin. Viktor was quickly beyond words, each thrust of Yuuri’s cock inside him had him seeing stars, the thud of his own pulse rang in his ears along with Yuuri’s desperate pleas of Viktor’s name, of <em>close</em>, of <em>so tight, so good</em>.</p><p>Every thread and seam of Viktor’s being rang with Yuuri’s name, with the perfect truth of their coupling, the wet sounds of their lovemaking. “I love you,” Viktor breathed, his mouth uttering what he had yet to say aloud.</p><p>“I love you too,” Yuuri answered without a moment’s hesitation. “I love you too.”</p><p>Yuuri’s hand worked Viktor over the edge in sloppy, disjointed strokes-- had him spilling for the second time over his stomach as Yuuri warned of his own release.</p><p>“Inside me, fill me, Yuuri,” Viktor pleaded, his voice hoarse and raw with sensation and bliss. “Claim me as your own, let me be yours.” Yuuri whimpered through his own orgasm, his hips twitching as well as his cock and a thick flood of warmth filled Viktor in his innermost core. He felt utterly wrung out, wholly claimed.</p><p>Yuuri fell forward, his cock still held within Viktor’s body, until it softened enough to slip free, a wet cascade soaking into the sheets below them. Both of them, with heaving chests, found each other’s lips easily, kissing each other breathless again.</p><p>“Please, never leave me again, Yuuri.” Viktor whispered after they had both come back to themselves. “I don’t know that I can bear to see you go again.”</p><p>Yuuri smiled softly. “And what of my own profession, Viktor? What would happen should I be commissioned to paint another spoiled nobleman’s son?” The playful jab had more weight behind it than Yuuri had clearly hoped to convey.</p><p>“I’ll build you a studio, here on the grounds. You’ll never need to travel again.” Viktor hurried to supply, “You will never want for the contents of another noble’s coinpurse, you’ll have everything you could ever desire and more.”</p><p>Yuuri blinked slowly. “What of those men who plead with their mothers that they be painted in the gardens of their summer homes?”</p><p>“Then I shall accompany you.” Viktor answered without missing a beat. “I cannot allow my betrothed to leave my side, even for a moment.”</p><p>Yuuri spluttered. “B-betrothed?” His eyes went wide, and Viktor’s did too. He hadn’t exactly intended it to come out as immediate as it had… “Viktor, you can’t, we… we aren’t even courting.”</p><p>Viktor’s eyes softened, and he wrapped his arms firmly around Yuuri’s frame. “Would you be so kind as to forgive my impatience, Yuuri? I’ve lost you once, I don’t intend to allow it to happen again.”</p><p>Yuuri laughed, though guarded. “What will your parents think?” he asked in a small voice, “Would they even bless your marriage to someone so much lower in class than yourself?”</p><p>Viktor shrugged. “I’m sure my mother would, without much issue. My father on the other hand, I’m sure will put up a bit of a fight. But you would be worth any kind of punishment he could hand down.” Viktor leaned forward and kissed Yuuri’s flushed cheek gently. “The answer I’m most concerned with though, is yours. Will you be mine, Yuuri? I long to be yours.”</p><p>“Yes, god, Viktor, yes.” Yuuri nodded, and Viktor couldn’t help but wish he had a ring.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. New Year's Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuuri fidgeted beside him, pulling at the cuffs of his tailcoat. Yuuri looked resplendent, done up to the nines. His deep blue coat contrasted his skin tone so beautifully it took his breath away. Yuuri’s cravat was perfectly tied, silky and pinned with an amethyst, sparkling and bright among the subtle damask patterning of his tie. </p><p>“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked hesitantly, looking up at Viktor beside him, who was similarly dressed in a purple coat, the same sapphire pin holding his tie in place as the day he met Yuuri. “Your father… he won’t…?” Yuuri’s voice trailed off into a question unvoiced, though Viktor knew. </p><p>“He might. But I’ll be damned if he tries to come between us, Yuuri.” Viktor swore, turning to the side and tucking a stray strand of raven hair behind his ear. His parents had returned from their holiday travels, and in the few days since Viktor’s proposal, Yuuri had stayed at the house, as he and Viktor began planning a wedding in the spring. It had all happened so fast, Yuuri had told Viktor he could hardly keep his head on straight.</p><p>They spent most of their time in bed, talking, learning more about each other, conducting an intense, condensed courtship in a matter of a few days. Yuuri showed Viktor the drawing he had only half-finished, being so caught up in need that he couldn’t complete it, though they did stage a second sitting. They both lasted the entire sitting on the second attempt.</p><p>Yuuri’s presence was unknown to his parents, and the reaction on his father’s face as the two of them joined them in the dining room for dinner was utterly priceless.</p><p>“Viktor, you didn’t tell us you were hosting a guest while we were away,” he replied tersely, giving Yuuri a dismissive once-over. </p><p>“Ah, yes, I didn’t tell you. Apologies, father. This is Katsuki Yuuri.” Viktor’s mother’s face lit up in a bright smile as she recognized him, the task almost impossible with Yuuri’s hair smoothed back from his face, done up to the nines in his suit and well-polished boots. “Yuuri and I have agreed to court and marry.”</p><p>Dmitry’s jaw fell to the table at the same moment as Ana stood from her chair, wrapping Viktor in a tight hug. </p><p>“Oh, Vityasha,” she whispered, her voice tight with joyful tears. “Congratulations, to both of you.” She pulled away and smiled fondly at Yuuri, who flushed but held her eye. “I knew you two would get along well, I didn’t expect you to get along <em>this</em> well.”</p><p>“Mama…” Viktor whined, earning a giggle from Yuuri and Ana. </p><p>“I had hopes, after seeing you two enjoy each other’s company in the summer.” Ana cooed, “Have you two considered your wedding day yet? Oh, I’d love to host a spring wedding here, Vityasha, it’ll be magnificent!”</p><p>“Viktor.” His father’s commanding voice broke over the small moment of celebration. “Am I to understand that this Katsuki Yuuri is the artist who we hired to paint your portrait?”</p><p>Viktor set his jaw and nodded firmly. “He is.” He felt Yuuri tense at his side, and Viktor offered him his arm, a soothing smile on his lips. “I must thank you and mama for introducing us.”</p><p>His father’s face screwed tight with shifting expressions of dismay, disgust, anger, disbelief. “Viktor, you know you cannot move forward with such a relationship. You must find someone of similar status.”</p><p>The words landed with a dull thud in Viktor’s chest and Yuuri’s hand squeezed his bicep tighter. </p><p>“No.” Viktor replied, the commanding tone he had learned from his father. “I will not, father. If you wish me to continue in your place as Earl, you will respect my choice. If not, you are more than welcome to find another to inherit the position. I will not be separated from my fiance, nor he from me.”</p><p>There was a thick, heady silence in the air as it was clear Dmitry was attempting to find an answer. After a long pause, his father returned to his seat with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re an impossible, petulant child, Viktor,” he muttered under his breath. “Do as you please.”</p><p>Viktor felt hope surge in his chest, and though the victory was small, begrudging, it was a victory nonetheless. Yuuri’s smile was wide and sweet, and Viktor couldn’t help but pull him in for a kiss. </p><p>“So, shall we marry in the spring, love?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri nodded proudly. </p><p>“We shall.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!<br/>❤️ ia<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/ia_theauthor"> Twitter</a> | <a href="https://incandescentantelope.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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